Vulgar Restoration

Three usual companions overpowered the existence of the broken home. The three of them, recurring. This reminded the strength of the past. As always, there was grim in the background, the worn out memory was starting to distort itself from the opened veins.

It started when I saw the self-portrait of the usual companion proven to be entirely different from the personal. It fumigated responses from the judgmental, bothered by its glamorous beauty from the innocence usually projected. However, the judgmental did not know her. She decided to visit home for renewal.

We were seriously talking while walking from the kitchen to the living room. The ceiling was showing its dire request for reconstruction, but the will that controls instills hindrance. The poverty around was abundant and disinterested. It was quite unusual. We parted for her to breathe out the pressure, her paleness was developing further. I walked forward through the stairs and saw the door towards the re-conceptualized room. It was turned and enlarged into a library, the books were unseen. Near the end, I saw another usual companion, her hair unruly. Her face structure deranged, she tried to smile, but it was still awkward. I hugged her for the emphasis of my happiness and decided to return back to the pale usual friend.

As I went back to the living room and sensed her heaviness, the last usual friend passed by. Her hair was unruly as well, her disposition was extremely defensive from her inappropriate appearance. There was no discrimination, but the truth was turned to the standard negativity in perception. With her simplicity, she escorted the pale usual friend to me as we enter the storage room for books and reading.

We searched for the right book while remembering the past life. We were contented, but we could not find the book. The pale and the last usual companion continued to talk, as if indifferent on what we had to find. I proceeded further and walked from shelf to shelf for a better strategy. I started to jump to reach out for the top and slid miserably through the shiny floor. The shelves were covering the other existence. When I reached the other side, I saw the other usual companion, her hair unruly, her shirt same as mine. She shifted seats and was eyeing me and was projecting the feeling of hopefulness that I would go to her. So I did. I hugged her again, but left her soon afterwards for I have to find the book. I failed, but did not grow disappointed.

It started to rain hard. The loud tapping of the rain on the metal roof was building the setting. I left the three of them and started to get out of the main door to the terrace. I was bathing in front of the innermost gate of home, almost inside the terrace before the said door to the living room. I undressed myself and let the furious falling rain from the roof wash me. The flood was starting to devour the soil. I put shampoo to my hair and the water falling from me started to become milky in color. I minded the terrace would be cleansed as well for the shampoo has its cleansing material, but I also developed fear for my father would realize what I did with what the mess I created. I continued to rub my body madly, eager to wash myself. I did not care who had seen, I was earnest to clean.

The darkness was whole, the humid was untimely. The third hand was sewing on its own; the other two were resting, sleeping in the raw night before I decided to wake up.